Forgive Me
by Leara Fiera
Summary: Takes place after Deep Dark. Both men have left her, but she's still her own worst enemy. Vicki is getting involved with someone no-one would approve of but do they care? Rated M for later content. Finally updated.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **It has been some time since I've posted anything. For that I'm sorry, but I have just been at vacation, and I apologize. Due to the summer break, and thus no new episodes unless you count my obsession about Rizzoli & Isles, and True Blood, I have been watching old vampire TV shows. I know, it's kinda pathetic, but I watched this fantastic show called "Blood Ties" which I, helplessly, fell in love with just after watching "Moonlight". I'm experimenting here, so please, give me your sincerest opinion. I'm Henry/Vicki fixated, I must warn, though I think Mike is both annoying and has great potential. The story is set a few weeks after, as you may discover, "Deep Dark", the last episode.

Please note that I have never read the novels by Tanya Huff, so the story can't be affected by her great story. I have plans to read it during July so please don't make any spoilers, if it's not of relevance to the story. I hope you will like it, since it's up to you if I'll continue this as a multi-chaptered story. This is part one, THE BEGINNING.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own BLOOD TIES, the show, or the novels. They belong to Tanya Huff and whomever has created the greatness of the characters. I'm just borrowing them, including the un-introduced characters, they're from the Internet. For now.

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><p>THE BEGINNING<p>

She introduced herself as Lorena. Unlike many of the invitations to supernatural affairs that revolved around Vicki's life, she didn't come into the office of Vicki Nelson Investigations.

It was a dim-lit midday with an overcast sky and an eventless morning so far. Not even the birds attempted to fill their lungs with air and express their misery in grief-filled tones. They just sat on the branches with their necks hanging depressed from their bodies, their eyes as good as lifeless, only their breaths confirming they were alive. It were as if the whole world had given up on that day, leaving it catalogued like a picture in the grey tones of a hazy memory. The humidity was atypical for a city like Toronto, used to cooler temperatures, the windy heat numbing like an unknown substance in the citizens' veins. Like a drowsy interval in a frozen story, insignificant conversations and opinions were exchanged by teenagers as well as pensioners. The only sound of genuine glee came from the park's playground, where a group of first-graders, wearily guarded by their worn-out parents, played with admirable energy. They had chosen to take advantage of the unusual weather and ran around in lighter clothes than accustomed to.

Sitting on a nearby bench, watching the children play tag with bright smiles on their faces, was Vicki Nelson. She'd, like many others, chosen to put her life on pause for the day. God knew she needed it, but of course she didn't acknowledge that, simply stating that she needed fresh air in the uncomfortable, humid weather that crawled under her skin, breaking out in sweat and nausea. She hadn't said anything to her assistant, knowing fully how frantic Coreen was whenever Vicki experienced any kind of discomfort, physical or otherwise. Her marks, the ones she bore on her wrists as a painful and yet eternal reminder of her stature as a sacrifice, hadn't flared, but – and this she hadn't told a soul, or, for other purposes, any entity – these days, no matter the weather, they burned subtly. Ever since the day she had allowed Astaroth to walk in return for the chance to save Coreen's life. His promise to return for her was inked with powerful, unstable magics that ran deeper than her skin. Unbeknownst to her friends, she had researched them, even tried to get them removed (though some part of her – probably her rationality and logic – had known it was foolish to even hope) which had resulted in a laser artist ending up with ruined equipment.

She didn't like to expose the so-called "tattoos". She hadn't even mentioned them to her family. It wasn't too hard for her family to picture her as the type to have one made – perhaps they'd even accept it after a few years of denial – but too many questions would be unanswered. Her mother would think she was a closeted satanist and start the never-ending argument why she left the force, as if it was her fault – that she'd chosen to fail at life, as if it was a subject. As if her life had been degenerating ever since her diagnose had been revealed. There was some truth to it; Vicki had chosen to take the valiant way out of her career, living pathetically in her ex-colleagues' minds. She had to admit, from the outer world's perspective, she looked pitiful. She could have chosen to let her legendary tales fade and ride a desk, instead she'd castrated all tales by acting like a deluded disappointment to the newbies in the Toronto Police Force, who'd possibly heard of her achievements during their training and now heard of the shadow of the woman they'd pictured, a crazy-woman. Some days she felt ashamed, others she was quite aware of her choice, and fairly supporting. Now was one of those days where doubt manifested in her mind.

She had subconsciously been rubbing her wrists like a newly released suspect from the handcuffs. She'd never had the pleasure of being cuffed (for she had been lucky to avoid the training sessions at the academy, where split in two teams, the aspirants should switch roles between cop and suspect. It seemed so long ago, though it was less than a decade). She sat down at the park bench, watching the kids play, amused by their merry spirits, finding herself unable to remember when she last felt such innocent joy. It surely had been before her illness ruined everything, escalating into her own line of things she'd ruined. She couldn't blame _rentinitis pigmentosa _for everything that had gone wrong in her, currently, sullen life. For instant, she was glad that she'd met Henry, because he had left her mind open, but unfortunately, her heart broken and bruised and filled with passionate confusion. However, his absence had left a thousand 'what-if's in her head, not just involving him, but also her relationship – or lack thereof – with Mike. Kind, understanding, compatible Mike, whose qualities had seemed to disappear the moment she left the force, and been replaced by distrust, confusion, misunderstanding and clashing words – like he had been the one, who had been abandoned. Vicki had ruthlessly stated that he'd acted like a spoiled child, like he had been the one losing everything. Now where both her 'knights' had refused her, she felt utterly alone and had sought the kindness of watching lively children play. She had a gaze of distance misplaced on her worried face, tears threatening to fall but she _wouldn't _let them. It was the kind of day where even Vicki longed for something to happen, be it supernatural or not. Any distraction from the truth of her life would be kindly welcomed.

She scarcely noticed how a woman had sat down – without Vicki's notice, which was, under the circumstances, not that odd – next to her, her eyes, too, on the panting yet running kids. Vicki assumed she was one of the parents to one of the kids. Her cop-sense screamed single mother, but how she knew that was the same as trying to explain a gut feeling. The woman was surely a parent – she had that look of unlimited content on her face – who had sought peace away from the other parents, who sat, talking irksomely about their frustrated jobs, on other bench-set. Looking for a distraction, though perhaps only in the small, the private investigator discreetly studied the woman. She was older than Vicki, but only by five or such years. She looked youthful, but her eyes wore the burden of memories which she bore beautifully. She looked Hispanic, though with more American features so she wouldn't be confused with an immigrant. Her complexion was tanned and golden, her hair ebony black and long in a way that Vicki envied. Before her illness, she kept her hair shorter for practical reasons – both the physical, but also the way men treated her if she looked too feminine, (insulting) – and after, she had been too preoccupied with the misfortunes of her life. She had ever only secretly wished for beauty. The woman wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but she was a few degrees up the scale in comparison to Vicki herself. Something she had only become painfully aware of since she had come to learn of Henry Fitzroy and his... acquired taste in food. She was slim, brown-eyed, beautiful, and from where Vicki was sitting, the kind of woman many men married. An irrational thought floated through her mind before she could stop it – was this woman the kind of woman Henry would have married, had he been mortal? She did possess that exotic glow, that passion in her genes.

"Unbelievable, don't you think?" the woman asked her casually, unnecessarily breaking the ice. She spoke in a tone that resembled admiration, but wasn't quite it. Content love. A happiness fueled by the bond to another human life. Somehow it both inspired Vicki, and made her feel like she missed something.

"Yeah, what I wouldn't give for that energy these days," Vicki murmured absentmindedly. She had attempted jokingly, but decided against it.

"Trust me, they demand just as much energy from you. Do you have any children yourself?" she asked curiously. Her eyes fell on a short-haired boy, who was just about to use the swing. A genuine smile of future laughter crept its way to her narrow lips. Vicki noticed she wore almost no makeup.

"No, fortunately," the ex-cop said, both relieved and, oddly, crestfallen. The stranger's eyebrow arched.

"Fortunately?" she repeated curiously, though no offended by Vicki's belief. "How come?" she asked kindly, like a supportive grandmother rather than a curios stranger.

"Nothing," Vicki replied. "It's just.. I can barely control me own life. I'd be the worst mom ever." Though the cop in her knew that she couldn't possibly be worse than some of the examples she'd seen on the job, her conscience disagreed. First of all, she walked around in constant fear, with a bull's eye on her back – or rather, wrists – damned to be a sacrificial lamb, or demonic companion according to Astaroth, not to mention the instability of her powers. Secondly, she risked blindness everyday, never knowing when it kicked in and left her helpless – something she'd never succumb to, and hand't yet dealt with. Thirdly, her business resolved around making people angry, catching them in their misdeeds. And fourthly, to the subject she somehow prioritized above all; Mike and Henry. She couldn't choose – though they now had done it for her – and couldn't do it without them, although in one case, it was utterly impossible–.

And why was she even contemplating this? She'd never thought about children before.

"Everybody thinks that before they have children. Trust me, you can't do that bad," the woman encouraged, then realized she hadn't introduced herself. "My name is Lorena Simmons, by the way. Since we're discussing such intimate decisions," she explained, smiling reassuringly. She tucked a tuft of hair behind her ear.

"Vicki Nelson," the ex-cop responded. "And I really think I'd be that bad. I'm practically blind already, and you're supposed to be observant as a parent, right?" she consulted.

Lorena smiled at Vicki's ignorance. "There's many ways, trust me. Sometimes you just want to kill them for taking your life away..." Lorena paled in a ghostly pallor, then proceeded carefully. "... but most of the time, you're grateful for their presence, their existence. It blesses yours."

Vicki listened though she wasn't of the same conclusion. Partly because she had a hard time immersing to Lorena's situation. She had not even been a babysitter in her adolescence, taking waitressing jobs instead, much like Coreen (though she had once implied that she'd done some babysitting). She had been brought up to think that child care came naturally but learned by experience (and a particularly humiliating Homicide case) that it didn't. Her mother's words echoed in her head. Mrs. Nelson hadn't mentioned her need for grandchildren since she told of the disastrous results of the case. Or, at least the part involving children.

"I may be looking forward to it," Vicki said, but muttered under her breath, again absently, "If I'll ever get there."

Lorena picked up on it, now facing her instead of watching over the children. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Well, I haven't exactly got the best potentials for boyfriends these days. Or, I had, but I screwed that up as well. Maybe I'm just fated to be alone. It fits my personality," she said, despite her like of what she called 'bouncing ideas off each other'.

"Sounds lonely," Lorena whispered. Then she grabbed Vicki's left wrist, just above where the Astaroth seal had been carved into her skin. It seemed too intimate for Vicki, but her unnerved, alerted reaction was instantly quieted. She looked directly at Lorena, entranced.

"What if I could help you?" the stranger proposed in a serene voice, her eyes weirdly flickering, yet remaining set on Vicki. Normally, it would freak the private detective out, but she was, as previously mentioned, entranced. She listened intensely, obediently as if ordered. "What if I could remove the pain from them, the pain from the blindness. The pain from the doubt? What if I could make you superior to all those things? What if I could ensure that what you feared would never happen?"

The cop-sense, logic and rational reasoning of Vicki's brain had been subdued. Mildly working, but only to an extent. Only her senses worked, as if on morphine. Her tunnel vision seemed to pick up Lorena's seemingly haloed head, and the frozen movements around them. It were as if time has stopped so that nothing would disturb them. She noticed the almost unnoticeable tears running down the beautiful woman's cheeks, like liquid glass tainting the pure painting of Lorena.

"I know what you have done. You have done the most valiant things and only met anger and misunderstanding. Your wounds go beyond flesh. You hurt, I can see it as clear as my own sorrow," Lorena spoke, seamlessly sympathetic. For once, Vicki wasn't hurt or confused whether or not it was pity or someone actually caring, as Mike once had putted it. She just had a feeling that Lorena wanted her the best and didn't ask any questions.

The divine woman held her hand out, patiently waiting for Vicki. She sent her a reassuring, caring gaze that created butterflies in Vicki's stomach. However immune to Henry's persuasion skills, she allowed Lorena to tell her of everything she offered, without the burden of mistrust and doubt hanging over her like a dark-gray cloud. At last, she look Lorena's hand, smiling unsteadily, and felt the world rush past her, this time her that was frozen in time.

x

Coreen hated feeling helpless although it was one of the first thing people would describe her as. Both people, who knew her, and those with only a first-hand impression. Though her wound from her unauthorized heart transplant – for the lack of better word – had healed because of Vicki's literal deal with the devil, it still ached. The college drop-out feared that it meant she had a bond with Astaroth though she reminded herself – often tearfully – that Vicki was too valuable for the demon lord for him to trick her. She hated that Astaroth had even ties to any of them. Thanks to Norman, they all suffered continuously. There were some days she wished that she'd never contacted Vicki when Ian had been killed. She probably would have died, and Henry and Vicki would have never met, so her mentor wouldn't walk around heartbroken. But then again, she loved that she had Vicki like an older, wiser and protective sister. Not that her biological family hadn't been there for her, or had disapproved of her lifestyle and choices, but everything was easier albeit more difficult with Vicki. Yet she constantly lived in the fear that she some day wouldn't be good enough for Vicki, or Henry. Or Mike for that matter. Vicki treated her like _someone_. Not a stupid kid – well, some times, when the situation called for it – but a real, equal person.

The assistant was grateful for Vicki's choice to save her, but it if had to be at the expense of her own life, Coreen wasn't sure. She suspected that Vicki's recent choices concerning her use of dark magic and Astaroth had been the final drop in the theatrical Henry/Vicki glass. She felt like a child caught in a divorce though her senses told her to be supportive of Vicki's decision. She'd never gotten the full story why Henry left and, cleverly, had chosen not to ask. It was very atypical of her, but she knew that the scar that rested on her chest and beneath it wasn't cut as deep as the ones Vicki had. She hardly understood the private detective anymore. And doubted if she ever had. Vicki was as split as any person could be. Between doing the save thing and what she thought was right. Vicki was, unfortunately, stoic and valiant, which was why she needed Henry! And Mike! But mostly Henry – which Coreen acknowledged with dread after her scare of the supernatural – because he saw who was Vicki's worst enemy; herself. Not because she was suicidal, but because she thought that because she was near-blind, her life wasn't worth that much, so she could risk more. More people than just Coreen, Henry and Mike would be devastated by her death, and angry.

Ever since the ritual, ever since Astaroth forced a choice upon Vicki, saving the life he'd doomed. Henry had left because he could not do it anymore, caring about a careless being, so fragile. Was he still furious at them for saving him? She'd hesitated, because she didn't want Vicki to get hurt, and she'd doubted whether or not it would work. Henry's reaction had been out of fury for Vicki's use of the dark arts. Ever since Astaroth's visit and release, Coreen had been determined to get better and get Vicki away from the temptation black magic posed. She didn't really believe a good person like Vicki would do something foolish but her recent behavior unnerved Coreen.

She sat at work, against Vicki's protests, refusing to go outside, since her boss already had chosen that option. This left her the chance to go through Vicki's things – respectively, of course, and out of concern – until she stumbled upon something, not odd or out of the ordinary, but very conclusive. It was an opened letter (and if it helped, Coreen felt really bad reading it), which she skimmed neatly. It was from Dr. Kendrick, an ophthalmologist at a hospital just outside Toronto. Coreen didn't know much of Vicki's illness, other than what Henry had told her (Vick wasn't very sharing on that subject), but as she read the letter addressed to Miss Victoria Nelson, she got the general idea. She knew Vicki's vision was deteriorating, but was left astounded and horrified and in tears by the end of the letter.

x

Although it had been two weeks since he'd mouthed his decision to Vicki, Henry Fitzroy had still not gotten all his things shipped to Vancouver. It wasn't that he hesitated – because he did and knew this – but he had a hard time letting go. He wanted to bring his sword, but her scent radiated off it, as did many of his drawings. He had considered leaving them all behind, but didn't want to, which unnerved him. He didn't even want to consider why they meant so much to him. However, his thoughts were interrupted by a husky heartbeat, wrapped in silky clothes and an eccentric personality. He bared fangs, growling feral and alerted. His irises drowned in black as the instincts of the vampire took over. He scented a familiar aroma that had once been the source of passion but now brought boredom and annoyance.

He opened the door and looked predatorily at Sinéad, who, even though he had made it perfectly clear that there wasn't a 'them' anymore, still attempted to flutter her long eyelashes at him, looking unbelievably irresistible. His mind, deprived of happy thoughts since his conversation with Vicki and their 'break-up', immediately flashed to the nights of passion spent with the sorceress before he came to loathe dark magic, and before he'd met Vicki. Before the ritual Astaroth had claimed Vicki with.

"What?" he roared impolitely. The exotic sorceress didn't even shudder, as he saw something in her eyes not tainted by her deceptive nature.

Sinéad stepped in, her shoulders sunken and her head down, as if she'd realized the world didn't revolve around her. She wore the same expression as someone carrying news of death, which was ironic as itself. It could, however, just be another one of her tricks.

"It's about your new friend," she said hesitantly. "The streaky-blonde with the power boost?" Though her words sounded judgmental, her intentions were pure. He could smell it, however he was cautious around her magics. He didn't like that Sinéad recognized Vicki's magic abilities with such venerate when she herself was a dark magic artist. Astaroth's power laid in those abilities, and he was in anguish over the change they had caused in the young private investigator.

"Vicki?" he said softer.

"Yes," she confirmed with sympathetic eyes. "I don't know why I'm here. I know you'd never forgive me if I didn't tell you. You probably won't, but I can have hope that this will exonerate me from our past encounters of violence," Sinéad sniffed hopefully.

"What is it?" he asked through gritted teeth, his fangs retracted but luring behind his barely restrained exterior. It took a lot for the sorceress to break free of her flirtatious, eccentric behavior. Though he doubted if any of her words were true – and not just a way to lure him in and break his fierce ability to be immune of her magics by using information about Vicki as bait – he had to listen.

She stared at him penetratingly, though scared that she would be harmed as the messenger of foul news. "She's not alright, Henry. I felt her powers bounce. She's been taken by someone. Something powerful enough to affect her."

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><p>Please leave a review :D<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Finally! I am re-watching Blood Ties and re-reading Forgive Me, which has finally, at last, resulted in a second chapter. It differs from my original idea, but should feed your appetites just as well.

**Disclaimer: ****I don't own Blood Ties or its characters.**

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><p>THE REASONS<p>

When the private investigator didn't return from her long walk, Coreen grew worried for Vicki. She hesitated, because she knew how much was on her mind lately – especially after reading a very private letter from Vicki's ophthalmologist. She'd tried convincing herself that she'd only done it out of concern for the PI's recent behavior. Her investigation had come to a halt since she'd found the letter. Guilt spotted her conscience, and she tried to find a proper reaction to the news when Vicki would tell her. _If _she told her at all. It wouldn't be peculiar for Vicki not to inform Coreen, which saddened the young goth. It was as if they had grown apart since she had been possessed by Astaroth though Vicki and her had seemed to finally understand each other. Now Coreen was left only with confusion. She knew she cared for Vicki. That she was sure of, even though she couldn't put her finger on what made her feel that way for the PI. Why? She didn't want to have anything to do with magics anymore, wary of their evil roots, but she forced herself to be with Vicki, stuck to her side, because she knew the PI needed her. Vicki was possibly marked by the demon lord, but what Vicki hadn't focused on – at least for the last two weeks – was that Coreen was marked as well. The scar above her heart might not flare and burn like Vicki's did, but they were just an eternal reminder of the fear Astaroth had placed by promising his return. She saw through what Vicki was trying; trying to alienate her, so she would go away, out of harm's way. Coreen doubted that it would help if she traveled away. Astaroth would find some connection between Coreen and Vicki to make the PI suffer. And Vicki needed her! Now more than ever! Didn't she realize that, Coreen asked herself with watery eyes. She sniffed lonely, awaking memories of the first time she walked through the doors of Vicki's office. If only she'd never brought the case... it wouldn't have helped Vicki. She'd lose her eyesight anyway, Coreen reminded herself as if it helped anyhow. Grief-stricken, Coreen emptied her mind of all the things that had happened in the last two weeks. She knew that it had been the two weeks since Mike had called. Henry had gone to Vancouver. Astaroth's release had drifted them apart, torn the foursome apart.

She'd seen Mike's decision coming but hadn't thought he'd go through with it. She worried for the detective. His partner at the force, who Coreen had only met once, and whom Vicki had muttered vice comments about, Kate Lam, had even called and tried to come in contact with him. She had told the female detective that no, she hadn't seen Detective Celluci, and managed to get information out of the other detective: Mike had been suspended. The tone in which Det. Lam used made it clear to Coreen that his days in Homicide were over. He had become another Vicki (though her 'transformation' had been after she had quitted). She wondered if Mike's suspension played a bigger part in Vicki's guilt trip than Coreen had first thought. Surely the former detective carried a lot of guilt, regret and confusion on her shoulders. Coreen had tried to help but faced rejection.

The assistant had to admit, though, that she knew of Vicki's trip down the dark magics. Recently, she'd noticed how books had disappeared from her shelves, but hadn't said anything, convincing herself that Vicki had tried to remove the seals of Astaroth from her wrists. It had been a foolish thought. Coreen had sent Vicki looks that spoke volumes about the disappointment she would face from Henry, if he ever found out. Yet she had never voiced her concern or disapproval, knowing that the woman was as fragile as her right now, and that she would grow argumentative if faced with adversity. It was stunning how Coreen had grown from Vicki-sauvvy to becoming practically a stranger, unable to sense whether or not she should confront her.

Perhaps that was why she hesitated in calling someone who could help; because it wasn't just Coreen, who had been pushed away by Vicki. Sadly, Coreen realized that she was the closest human connection the investigator currently had. Nevertheless, she didn't know if it was too soon or too late to call the vampire or the ex-cop. They obviously didn't want anything to do with her, mainly _because _they cared. The old Coreen would have given them a scolding for hesitating and rejecting. The one who still hadn't overcome the recent Astaroth crisis doubted every thought in her head. Vicki could scold her later.

"Yes, is this Carol, Mr Celluci's landlady?" she asked after a few phone calls, all going straight to Mike's voicemail. "Great. Oh, no, I don't have any news. Actually, I have been trying to reach him, but..." She trailed off, listening to Carol's reply, then frowned. "Really? You sure?" She sighed, disappointed. "Well, did he leave a number? No? Did he say where the cabin was?"

A minute after, she had no information on Mike's whereabouts, left crushed. She tried Vicki's cell phone but it was off. It went straight to voicemail, and Coreen nervously bit her nail, thinking about calling someone with nearly half a millennium of experience in people.

x

Henry's protective nature when it came to Vicki growled inhumanly. He decided against taking Sinéad by the throat, throwing her into the wall. He hadn't even felt his fangs come out or his vision increase as his pupils grew large and black. He slipped into an attack position, his attention diverted between Sinéad – in hope of more details – and the bond he had with Vicki. It had been weeks, months, since she'd let him drink her, and his ability to sense her was fading (which had been his intention), and because of that, he had a hard time distinguishing her from the other heartbeats in the Toronto area.

"What do you know?" he roared viciously. His heart, had it been beating, would have pounded with anger, fury, and, most of all, passionate lust to rip whoever had the private investigator apart. His anger zoomed in on Sinéad, who was visibly affected by his sudden change and aggression. Now she saw how sacrificial he could be when it concerned Vicki Nelson. He was just about to tear her apart for knowledge she might or might not possess.

The young sorceress trembled ever so slightly and conjured a pocket-size map of the downtown Toronto. She handed it over quickly, where Henry studied it, intimately and bewildered. He looked up when his impatience overruled his curiosity and bewilderment. "And?" his eyes seemed to demand.

Luckily, Sinéad understood. She looked at him pensively, her eyes, lustful in the past, now solemn. She wasn't here for him, but to prevent something grave in his life. He sensed she did it out of fear for what he may do to her, had he found out she'd possessed the information and not told him rather than care for him or Vicki. "X marks the spot," she said darkly.

Her curly dark locks were left tangled by the whirlwind of his rapid and highly inhuman exit of the condominium. She offered the ghost of a wicked smile to no-one in particular, but it soon faded into realization. She had lost Henry to that woman. She hoped, but doubted, that the nightwalker would do the same – rush to her rescue – if she were ever in trouble. A lonely tear made its way across the stoic expression of the sorceress. She left the throne-heir's property unaccompanied.

x

Henry didn't take his time memorizing the map. He found the 'x', as Sinéad had so juvenile dubbed it, almost instantaneously. It marked, not an apartment complex, or a deserted industrial area, but a fairly nice street east of Toronto's financial district near Chinatown. He knew Toronto well enough, having lived there for a decade, though under different names. He knew where it was safe to hunt, where he could order take-outs, so to speak, where human predators hunted theirs; and he was eagerly aware of the locations of precincts all over Toronto. Like Augusto, Henry knew many of the more exotic contacts, having fooled around with worshippers of the night. Who said life as the only vampire in town had to be lonely?

He stopped momentarily when he reached the cul-de-sac, shorter than the blink of an eye for a human. Did he want to come to Vicki's rescue? She had all but made her choices clear. She didn't need him. Who was to say that this wasn't a situation she would have under control, him embarrassed as he stormed to rescue her? The heartbroken part of him hesitated, but the vampire, possessively and passionately, roared in him, wanting to make sure his own was not tainted. Henry tried to reason – Vicki had never been his, never would be. She was human, how she thought was human, she was unreasonable! She would never understand the way he lived and felt, had barely accepted his diet (concealed by a casualness he knew was not genuine). Why should he come to rescue when she so stoically did not want his help?

Henry had seen Vicki's strengths when Mike had seen weaknesses. Mainly because he had known the detective and seen her as wounded, whereas Henry had seen what he thought of her prime: a woman who hadn't given up when faced with obstacles. She fiercely continued doing justice although she was crippled by a deteriorating eyesight. This trait and tendency was both admired and loathed by Henry, because Vicki so foolishly thought that being heroic made her invincible. How could he put up with something so _mortal _and foolish and be expected to stand by, doing nothing? _Humans!_ How long could he put up with their ridiculousness? Didn't she realize that each injury she took, wounded him? That he couldn't pretend not to be aroused and hungry and tempted when her blood ran from a wound? She wasn't of his world, and despite their cases and her casual accept, she would never fully understand his ways. She questioned everything! She had been around for three decades! Who was she to question _him_, son of a king? Ill-mannered and so bittersweetly mortal, stuck in her ways and the manners of modern feminist society. Hurt, Henry asked himself why he found her passion so irrefutable. Why had he tired of his conquests and easily seduced meals? Why had he begun to follow her and wish to be a part of her life? He could never be. He knew that. Had fought his beast within, but the quicker he realized that, the sooner he could move on. To Vancouver, to countless of young woman who pleased his most basic needs without the complexity of Vicki Nelson.

Yet he continued to his goal, a blur in the wind and into the dark night.

x

She awoke lightheaded, out of phase with reality. Everything seemed to glow serenely and she held up her hand to cover the brightness, her eyes sore, tired and tunneled. Briefly she thought about the clichéd _don't go towards the light_, because in her condition, it did look like a tunnel with light at the very end. She almost chuckled, but found that her head nearly exploded at the movement. She halted immediately, instead resorting to moving very slowly, keeping her head leveled. It was awkward, because she had no idea where she was; it felt like a bed, but once her eyes adjusted themselves, meaning fading the light, she crawled up from the floor in a darkened room, the only interior a crushed chandelier. Her body hurt from the bad resting position and vertigo settled once she got up.

"Don't move," a nameless voice instructed. Defiant as ever, Vicki moved, causing her the mother of all headaches, nearly sending her crashing back to the corner from where she had just gotten up. She groaned in obvious pain, gathering no sympathy or response from the voice.

Vicki tried to find out where she was. She had woken up on far stranger locations. This room resembled the average room in a house. Sans furniture, of course. Whoever had lived there had cleaned out and moved away. As screaming for help was out of the question, Vicki assessed the situation. The room was no larger than a nursery, its duckling yellow wall paper one color until it met the white panels and ceiling. The carpet was dusty but had probably originally been cream. She had no idea why a chandelier hung loose from the ceiling, oddly misplaced. One white oak door was the only way out and as Vicki made her painful way there, it didn't stop her from banging against the door, manhandling the doorknob to no end. She was stuck. She had been stripped of all non-essential items. No phone, no taser, no machete, no jacket, no shoes, no glasses. Jeans, dress shirt and underwear (luckily). She tried to skim her memory for any leads but came up empty. Actually, she couldn't come up with anything concrete.

_Tabula rasa. _No, she remembered who she was. She was Vicki Nelson... what? She knew something went to the name, some sort of title perhaps, but found it slipping away from her grasp the more fiercely she tried to reach it. She knew how she was supposed to act, knew the fury in her chest, the frustration at being caught. Caught? She wondered. Who was to say this wasn't a prank pulled by a friend or a co-worker? Lame, yeah, but people had all sorts of senses of humor.

As it triggered, she found a name in her conscience. Coreen? Coreen. No face to couple the name, but it was a start. Did her head hurt? Maybe she had hit it accidentally. No, it was the wrong kind of hurt in her head. Not an echo from a physical trauma. More like a nauseous headache. Like the ones you got that time at the month. Whoever Coreen was, the mere feeling of her name was comforting. Coreen. Coreen. She obviously held some kind of meaning for Vicki. Suddenly she felt empowered. There was power in a name. Power in remembering. She just had the feeling that Coreen would come for her. Surely the prank would not be fun much longer.

She quickly searched the room for anything – a hidden key, a splint of wood that could help her. Nothing.

"Coreen? Coreen! Is that you? It's not funny anymore," Vicki jokingly said, rather loudly. With no idea of who she was, how she got here and even who was on the other side of that door, panic spread quickly through her. Her breath became heavy, the bumps against the door entrancingly regular and at last a defeated Vicki slid down the door, a bright glow radiating the room as she fell unconscious. A stray thought told her that sleeping might not be a good idea with a head injury but before she could act, she was gone.

x

Henry jerked back to reality as his phone rang out. Irritated at the caller's inconvenient timing, he picked it from his pocket easily as he scanned the neighborhood, viciously looking for Vicki's scent.

"What?" he growled annoyed, wondering why he even bothered to pick up when he had such important matters. He remembered Astaroth's promise although it was tainted by the feeling of betrayal and heartbreak connected to the period two weeks ago. How could one mortal enrage him this much? Then he listened to the caller's hesitation, took the opportunity to listen really close and identified the terrified heartbeat with a murmur.

"Coreen?" He sobered up. Maybe she had some intel on Vicki. Maybe Sinéad had been another one of Astaroth's shapeshifting minions, using his care for Vicki to lead him to her. Maybe, he thought, hoping, Vicki was safe, just refusing to bother with him.

"Henry," the goth said and he could hear her heart beat faster in desperation. "Vicki's missing. I've tried calling everyone, even Mike, but he's gone, and Vicki is not asnwering... and –."

"Coreen," Henry said softly, benching his wilder side. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Coreen cried. "She went out during the day and didn't come back. At first I thought she just forgot to call, but then I grew concerned. I read her mail," she confessed and he could feel the guilt in her voice. "She's been getting worse, Henry, a lot worse. She's not talking to me, and.."

He heard the hesitation, heard the cringing of her teeth gritting. "... she has been exploring the dark arts," Coreen quipped. "I don't think she'd be foolish to do something, but now she is gone and I've tried everywhere!"

This pretty much confirmed Henry's fears. That Vicki had buried herself in the new fascination with the marks. That she would use dark magic to try and break the bond between her and the demon lord. Heavens, if Henry had thought it'd be possible, he would have been helping her, but dark magic came with a price. A price Vicki couldn't comprehend and had chosen to ignore. Fury fueled him. He did his best not to crush the phone in intoxicated rage. Vicki's stubborn foolishness knew no limits. She was going to let herself be killed! And he had sworn to stop exposing himself to that kind of heartache. How could she refuse him and be so willing to walk the dark path of magic? What good could come of that?

"Can you trace her phone? I have the place, but it is too big."

He heard her intake of breath; surprise, hope, followed by devastation. A weird combination, but she didn't question his motives. "No. It's gone. I have already tried. I hoped your... spidey senses? .. could track her."

"Alright, Coreen, I'll call you when I find her."

"How did you know that she'd be –."

He hung up, feeling apologetic, but reining the beast within as it came out. Normally he only let it resurface during a hunt, but he knew that he was strongest with it nearby the surface. He couldn't afford mistakes to be made. By now, he trusted Sinéad's words somewhat. Vicki _was _in danger and this was something out of her control. He growled displeased and went to search the area, knowing he and the vampire would recognize her out of a crowd. By now, even his beast felt something when he was near the private investigator; lust, hunger, passion. Undeniably.

Henry did not grasp where he ended and the vampire started. By now they were so close in a dance of centuries, the vampire allowing him, he restraining the vampire. Would he be able to control his urges once he found her? Did she want him to? His search grew more rapid, more passionate with each empty house clueless. He listened for her heartbeat, which he by now was so intimately familiar with, but in the maze of heartbeats, it was so difficult. It had been two weeks. Her scent, before so unique, could be gone the next. Did he memorize it? Did he remember the passion, the defiance, all rolled into the delicious scent of blood? The momentary willing where she had contemplating being one of his kind? No, he wanted her this way, human, mortal, difficult. But love had become to overused in a dozen lifetimes. Could be no longer recognize it or was he too bored with it to call what he felt for Vicki love? Labeling it always made things more difficult. No, what he felt for Vicki wasn't casual passion and infatuation. It was him seeing another kindred soul. She would make such a beautiful trophy and conquest, but he didn't want her as that. No, he wanted to watch her soul to know it as his own, her weaknesses, her strengths, her passion totally undivided. Which he could not do as long as she was Vicki Nelson. No, he could never have her the way he wanted to. To make her as him would forever doom them, gracing them with only moments – considering their lifespans – of lust and passion. She would also never forgive him, never be allowed to be close enough. But as mortal, parts of her heart still lied with the police detective. He scoffed mentally while the vampire hunted for her. Had it been one of his graphic novels, the suitor would have tragically died, slain by a monster which the knight defeated moments later, too late, before rescuing the damsel in distress. Detective Mike Celluci was no ordinary suitor, but he and Vicki's shared past made any of Henry's attempts intrusive. And he thought he had letted go of her, but tonight only proved that he didn't. Why could Vicki not choose and let him be disappointed or glorified?

And finally, his vampire found a stray of her scent. Enough to awake Henry from his deep thoughts. She was here! Alive. Once he found the scent, he traced it to her heartbeat. It was weak, covered by the creaks on an old house on an isolated lot, but it was there. Faint, still, Vicki.

He raced to her, broke the door off its hinges, not noticing anything, his goal in mind, the beast sated for now with the pleasure and intensity of the hunt, awaiting its prize, but he did not notice the bright light, mistaking it for sunlight, shying away until he watched Vicki.

Victoria Nelson laid gasping in the corner, sans jacket, completely defenseless. What had been done had happened to her. He could feel it in the air now where he took notice. He frowned as he zoomed in on her, watching as the light faded, leaving him, leaving her, leaving them. He crawled inhumanly fast to her, forgetting his burns, caressing her neck where her veins stood out fiercely, tempting him. He didn't give in, couldn't risk it, but saw her return to consciousness. Breathlessly, he folded her wrists before gently picking her up once no groans were issued when he touched her limbs. He didn't like the glow of the room, the abandoned scene like she had been left for dead. No pentagrams in sight, no threats, nothing to prevent her from rushing away.

Her eyelashes fluttered while he carried her out of the house. It had been a home once, now abandoned for rats and mice to take home. The floorboard creaked below his feet, suggesting something that sent shivers down his spine. He felt her breath, listened for every beat of her heart, felt her nudge into his back as she held on for her dear life. Former arguments forgotten, she barely recognized him behind the hazy white orbs, her bones weak.

What had she done? No items suggested black magic, yet he felt that unnerving presence of something demonic. He couldn't shake the feeling off him, not even when he reached his condominium where Sinéad had left (half to his delight, half to his disappointment; perhaps she could tell what was wrong). He stepped through the doors to the foyer, not exchanging gazes with the security guard, who recognized Vicki but said nothing. Henry didn't risk putting her down, the irony of her state not lost on him. He locked the door after him, carefully laying her on his bed (he wouldn't use it for hours, and he could sleep on the floor if the need arose). He felt awful leaving her, but called Coreen and told her that Vicki was here, at his place.

When he returned, his heart would have skipped a beat. He noticed the scent changing to something else and how one heartbeat slurred before diving to two individuals. But Vicki remained unconscious, the only being in his bedroom.

* * *

><p>LET ME HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS :D<p> 


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